Fictional Reality: Coming to Terms
by House Sparrow
Summary: When Piper casually explained Sherlock's nature to Loki, she left out how painful the whole story had been. Emotionally, that is. The path of love is one best walked in the dark. (After Wholock Distraction, before Loki's Vacation)
1. Prologue

I slept in the next morning, reluctant to leave the comfort of the bed. I didn't really sleep the whole time, though. I just lay there, trying to get a hold on reality. I didn't really need to workout, anyway; I had done enough in the past few weeks to run any mortal into the ground. I only left the bedroom when my stomach growled audibly.

I opened the door to find Sherlock in his chair reading the paper. The futon was folded up. I was so out of it that I hadn't heard John leave. I fixed myself a bowl of cereal, but I found I couldn't choke it down.

Sherlock came in to toss the paper when he was done reading, giving me a wide berth. "Was it that bad?" I glanced up. He nodded toward what was once cereal, but was now a bowl of soggy mush. I set aside the spoon I had been pushing the slop around with as he continued, "You're usually ravenous in the morning."

I nodded in response to his question before pushing the bowl aside and resting my head on my arms. "I'm sorry about yesterday," I muttered. He sat down in front of me, ignoring the comment, acting like it didn't happen.

"You've been interfering in dimensions with the actor that plays me."

"Yeah."

"It must be confusing."

I looked up and shook my head. "It's not that. I'm just pretty shaken up." He stared at me, waiting for more of an answer. I refused to meet his gaze. It took a second for me to find my voice again.

"I killed him," I whispered. The tears started coming.

"Who?"

The words started flowing with the tears. "Khan. I killed him. I didn't want to. I gave him so many options, but he wouldn't take them. I watched the life leave his eyes, Sherlock! And . . . he looked . . . ," I trailed off, unable to finish.

"Just like me."

"More than that. His whole character is so much like you! He was like how you would be if you caved to your anger. He was supposed to be put back in the cryo-tube, but I knew he could be good, could help others. He could be like you. I convinced Starfleet to let me talk to him, but he wouldn't listen. He wanted me to kill him, him and his crew."

"You're being ridiculous."

I finally looked at Sherlock. "What?"

"You kill all the time. The only difference is that this was a beloved character." He practically spat out the phrase 'beloved character'.

"You don't understand—"

"No, _you _don't understand." A shiver ran down my spine. He was so intense all of a sudden. "You're projecting your interpretations and feelings on to these people. You're not being professional."

I snapped. Standing up I shouted at him. "He wasn't some 'beloved character', Sherlock! He was a man with a chance at redemption, at being good!"

He stood as well. "If he wasn't a beloved character, than you're projecting one on him. You always say that the reality isn't the same as the fiction. It's about time you take your own advice."

That was it. Having killed that same image, watched all vigor and spirit leave those same eyes, cause such a similar aura to disappear, suddenly it all didn't matter. It also didn't matter how close his words were to the truth. Khan didn't remind me of a beloved character. He reminded me of the man I was in love with. I slapped that man across the face with all the strength I could muster. As his head snapped to the side, I left, and a very upset dragon suddenly roamed the skies of the _Avatar_ dimension.

**_・ ・ ・_**

"You can come in now; she's gone," Sherlock called. I finished climbing the staircase and entered the kitchen.

"It sounded like you really upset her, Sherlock," I said, setting the groceries on the table. I had never heard them fight before.

"I'm only trying to help her," Sherlock responded.

"Piper doesn't seem to think so."

"That's the problem, John, can't you see?" Sherlock abruptly began to pace. "She's becoming too attached. She can't distance herself from the characters she interacts with."

"I really don't see the problem with that. It would be horrible to have the Balance in the hands of a cold-hearted monster. Piper's caring is what saves lives." Sure, she kills people. My flatmate was right on that one. But she avoids it, trying her best to stop meaningless bloodshed. She just hated how much bloodshed was meaningful.

"Yes, but happens when she begins to care _too _much?"

"Explain."

"One day, she's going to fall for one of these characters, and then _she'll_ be in danger. Her affection is her weakness, John! It's going to kill her, I know it! She's going to abandon her duties and die for some man in the name of _love." _The word sounded like poison the way he said it.

I shook my head. "You really are an idiot, Sherlock," I said, heading back toward the stairs.


	2. Chapter 1

John and I knelt beside Sherlock's limp form. "John, get lots of towels," I commanded. I immediately started to rip open the detective's shirt so as to examine the wound. It was up to me to save Sherlock; the wounds (yes, apparently there were two) were beyond human capabilities to heal. _Idiot,_ I thought as I pulled out the dagger that I had hidden under my pant leg. _You should have listened to me!_

"What are you doing?" John exclaimed as I sliced open my palms and pressed them to Sherlock's chest. There were two bullets in or near his heart; this was going to be difficult.

"Saving him. I need silence." I closed my eyes and probed the wound through my blood. One piece at a time, I located and removed the shrapnel, pumping my power in to heal the tissues once the metal was removed. Once the shrapnel was taken care of, I probed further. One lung was punctured, and his aorta was torn. I healed those first, channeling as much of my power into his broken body as possible. I then focused on his damaged ribs and the rest of the tissues torn by the path of the bullets.

But it wasn't enough. He was still dying. I desperately searched the inner recesses of my mind, frantically unlocking any hidden wells of power I had.

I was weakening, and still his condition deteriorated. Tears streamed down my face as I forced more and more power into him, draining reserves I didn't know I had.

Then it was gone. I was completely drained. I opened my eyes to find a blurry and out of focus world. I was wavering side to side. Somewhere along the way, I gave him more than my power; I had given some of the very energy that allowed my body to function. Deep inside, at the back of my mind, I wondered if I had given too much. But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Sherlock was leaving this world. His skin was extremely pale, and it stood in ugly contrast to the pool of crimson surrounding him. Already, he looked like a corpse, a victim from one of the many crime scenes he visited.

I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his in a final goodbye. They were cold; he had lost too much blood. Then the cold spread to myself. The world faded, and cold darkness enveloped me. It was like a blanket that suppressed all feeling. I welcomed it, wrapped it around myself, and gratefully fell into a numb, dreamless slumber.

・ ・ ・

I stared at my two friends, so lively moments before, now in a crumpled heap in a pool of blood. I doubted my flatmate was going to walk away from this one. Numbly, I moved toward Piper, prepared to do my best to at least save _her_, but hoping that her natural healing ability would handle it. I wasn't sure if my knowledge would be sufficient to heal her. _She's too young for this. It isn't right; she didn't choose to live this way like we did. _Pushing those thoughts away, I examined her palms, surprised to find that they hadn't begun to heal even the slightest. Whatever she did, it weakened her too much for her to even stop bleeding. I quickly fastened tourniquets and bandages out of the towels she had called for.

I had just turned to her shoulder to examine her bullet wound, _clean through, that helps,_ when I heard something thrashing about. I looked up to find Sherlock having a seizure. His previously limp form was trembling and shaking, his limbs jerking randomly. Then it was over almost as quickly as it started.

The not-dead man abruptly sat straight up and turned toward me. His wounds were healed, and the color had returned to his face all of a sudden. His eyes traveled from me to Piper, taking in the situation. I stared, mouth agape. He most certainly had been dead. Even Piper had given up.

"Help her, for god's sake," he demanded.

"I have a feeling calling a doctor won't help," a familiar voice said from behind me. Suddenly, Mycroft was at my side with a first aid kit, helping me bind Piper's shoulder. My mind was reeling. What was Mycroft doing here?

"You're in my house," he responded, seemingly reading my mind. "If she brought you here, then whoever's after you must be dangerous."

"That's obvious, seeing as we were shot," Sherlock spat.

After binding up Piper and tucking her under the covers in a guest bedroom, I addressed Mycroft. "If she brought us to your house, brought her inhuman self to the government, then she must not have expected to be able to help in a time of need. She said there were three snipers. Whoever we were called to meet really wants us dead."

"Not as much as Moriarty, and we handled him just fine," Sherlock said defensively.

"Look, I know you don't get along with your brother, but Piper thought we would need his help! She tends to be right with these kinds of things!" He cringed, catching on to the dual meaning of my words. She wouldn't be on her deathbed if he had just swept his ego aside and listened. She warned us of the snipers. She warned us that yes, they were told to shoot. But the genius beside me had deduced that we were meant to survive this meeting. _Well, it looks like two of us will._ I can't be certain about the third.

"Three snipers is the most this person would be able to muster. The profession is quite afraid of your friend. There are tales of her appearing out of nowhere, snapping gun barrels like toothpicks." Mycroft gave a dry laugh. "Superstitious lot, criminals. Especially assassins. I wouldn't have believed them until today. If you'll excuse me, I have some calls to make. Since the young lady's on break, it's my turn to scare away these pests."

After he left, Sherlock and I stood staring at Piper for a moment. She was as pale as he had been moments before. I could almost see Death looming in the shadows. _All because of his ego._ I couldn't take it! Sherlock was my friend, but I really hated him sometimes.

"Is she going to recover?"

"You tell me," I responded. My tone was filled with vehemence, but Sherlock may actually know. Soul mates would know if the other was dying, right?

I turned to leave. Mycroft would most likely need more details in order to find these people. I paused in the doorway. "Are you happy, Sherlock? Because you were right. She just might die for love."


End file.
